Summary: She pretends she's going to leave. He pretends he wants her to stay. They pretend to make-up and believe that everything will be alright. But it's always an act.
Warnings: One bad word.
Disclaimer: If I owned it, it would have been canon. The song belongs to Kelly Clarkson.
Remember all the things we wanted
Now all our memories they're haunted
We were always meant to say goodbye
Something isn't right. He knows because he can sense it, smell it. He opens the door just in time to see her suitcase closing. Her back is stiff and she takes a deep breath before she faces him. She looks him in the eye and clenches at the suitcase, reminding herself that she has to do this. A frown tugs at his lips because he doesn't have to be a genius to know what she has in mind. Part of him is screaming to stop her, grab the fucking suitcase and throw it across the room, because she is his and she can't leave him. But a bigger part of him realizes that this is how it should be.
He doesn't say anything and she knows she won't either. They've never been one for small talk (hell, they've never been one for conversations at all). Their bond was formed from something different (whether it was something deeper or not, she doesn't know). He watches her, waiting for some kind of sign – any kind of sign – that this isn't what she wants, what she needs. She doesn't give him one.
It shouldn't be this easy. He should care, should fight more. She should be upset, should find more reasons to stay. There are too many things too right with them for it to be this okay. Too many late nights, too many feelings. He swallowed his pride and cared for her. She fought the battle against herself and won for him. She can't be replaced and he never will be. No one accepts him like she does and no one can make her feel like he does. He says that she makes him a man and she's always believed that he makes her strong. He will never find someone that fits with him the way she does. She will never again experience true passion. No one will ever stand up to him the way she does and no one will ever understand her the way he does. There is too much too right for it ending to feel like this. They're too right to be this wrong.
They stand there watching, waiting.
It shouldn't be this hard to walk away. He's too old, she's too young. (She's building her life and he doesn't even know who he is anymore.) He's too selfish, she's too mature. She's the cure he isn't sure he wants. He's the addiction she can't afford to have. They have too many differences, too many similarities. She needs too much, but doesn't have enough to give. He wants too much, but can't give anymore. There are things she wants, but will never ask and he will never tell. He feels for her, but will never say it. She understands, but there are three words that she so desperately wants to hear (needs to hear – like air, like blood). She's too popular, he's too jealous. There are too many fights, too many nights that end with him storming out. Too often he wonders if she is with someone else, too often he almost hopes she is. Too many times she doesn't know if he's coming home, too many times she almost prays he isn't. There is too much too wrong for it to matter this much. They're too wrong to be this right.
They've almost been in this situation more times than either of them can count. She pretends she's going to leave – sometimes she even packs her bags. He pretends he wants her to stay – sometimes he even grabs her before she reaches the door. And they pretend to make-up and believe everything will be alright. But it's always an act. This time there are no dramatics, no over packing, no violent temper tantrums. She's only packed one bag, just big enough for her to carry. His arms are crossed, and his hands aren't clenched in frustration. There will be no almost this time, because this isn't an act.
She isn't wearing his dog tags.
He doesn't pretend to care.
She doesn't look at him when she walks by, afraid that his eyes will make her stay. (Her eyes burn and she wants to cry, but doesn't have any tears left. He isn't sure he knows how to anymore.) He doesn't say anything, afraid that his words will betray him. Her hands shake as she opens the door. He watches her, forgetting how to breathe. When she slips through the door, he doesn't stop her. She stands on one side of the door, him on the other, because it's best this way.
And somehow, they know they'll be alright.
I want you to know that it doesn't matter
Where we take this road someone's gotta go
And I want you to know you couldn't have loved me better
But I want you to move on so I'm already gone
Already Gone – Kelly Clarkson
Note: I heard this song when I was driving to pick up my brother. I've had the Kelly Clarkson CD for sometime, but I haven't listened to it. As soon as I heard this song I had to write this. This was also an experiment in no dialogue and a drabblesque type of story. I wrote this right after I watched the best Logan/Rogue episode of X-Men: Evolution, so I'm sorry if the characters aren't exactly right.
Review, please. =]